


Silver Bath

by goldenteaset



Series: Battle Continuation [2]
Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: After Story, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Cooking, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lancer's off the leash and Shirou profits, Lube, M/M, Mild angst amidst all the happiness basically, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: “Hey…we’ve never bathed together, have we?” Nor have they slept together with Shirou’s shirt off. It’s always on when they sleep together, as if there’s something he can’t bear to show.Shirou flushes and looks off to one side, brows pinched. “N-No.”Maybe today he’ll finally find out why.An after story/extra H-scene for Battle Continuation.(Edit: Changed the summary quote because the formatting wasn't working out.)
Relationships: Cú Chulainn | Lancer/Emiya Shirou
Series: Battle Continuation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635289
Comments: 8
Kudos: 109





	Silver Bath

**Author's Note:**

> A funny origin story about this fic: I was checking Battle Continuation for formatting errors a few months ago, and realized that due to not wanting the epilogue to go on forever I had cut the "H-scene" that was supposed to be there and forgot about it. _But..._ I still had the basic premise. And since I wanted to write something short with Lancer and Shirou anyway, here we are! :D 
> 
> Plus, hey, it's fun thinking about what life would be like for the Emiya family post-HGW.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/stay night.

“I’m home,” Lancer calls, locking the door behind him to keep out the autumn chill that was crawling like spiders up his back. “You home yet, Shirou?”

A quiet _thud_ only a Servant could hear. “—Y-Yeah, just a second—!” He must be in their bedroom.

 _Or maybe somewhere else…? No matter how many years we’ve lived here, this place is a maze._ Not that Lancer minds; the chase is as fun as the capture. Whistling to himself, he slips on his inside shoes and moseys over to see how his Master’s doing. And what’s on tonight’s menu.

It’s been two years since the Grail War ended, and in that time Fuyuki’s Culinary Academy has done Shirou a world of good. It’s given him a way to help others without getting skewered, for one, and for another it’s made him genuinely happy. Every day, he comes home with new recipes and more enthusiasm than the day before. Hell, he doesn’t seem to notice his muscles have a bit more padding. ( _Lancer_ does, and appreciates it.)

As for Lancer…well, he got the boot from Copenhagen a month ago, and is now trying his hand at selling fish. How long will that last? He’s not sure, but hopefully for a while longer. Freeloading isn’t his style—not if he can help it.

Just as he rounds a corner, Shirou pokes his head out of the bathroom like a nervous jack-in-the-box. “Ah, Lancer, hello!” It looks like he hasn’t undressed yet. Why _that_ is isn’t clear. “Come in.”

Nodding, Lancer follows Shirou inside. The lights are a little dimmer than usual. More intimate. It gives the yellow walls a golden glow. But the bath hasn’t been filled yet…weird.

“Got something planned, huh?” He can’t resist elbowing Shirou in the ribs (gently). “Nice.”

“It’s not like th—” Shirou stops, exhales slowly. His shirt expands slightly in time with his chest. “Well…yes, a little bit. I’ve been so busy with college, I haven’t had time to do anything special with you. So I decided to set something up—oh.” His head jerks up; he’s thought of something else. “Do _you_ have time for this, Lancer?”

“Sure do!” He can’t t _hink_ of anything important he’s forgetting, anyway. “So we’re going to take a dip together, is that it?”

Shirou grins wryly at the bath. “Yes, and maybe something extra. If this thing works as advertised, anyway.”

Before Lancer can ask, Shirou pushes him over to the cleaning area to get the dirt and stuff off before actually bathing. (It’s one of those things he still doesn’t get about the modern world, but if it means Shirou can wash his back and vice-versa, it’s not a bad tradeoff.)

“Hey, aren’t you going to wash too?”

“In a second.” Shirou’s limbs are longer now, so he can block Lancer’s view of the tub easier than before. “It’s a surprise, so don’t look!”

“Okay, _okay_ , geez…”

The ritual happens without incident: Lancer finds a stool to sit on, shampoos and conditions his hair, and rinses it off with a bucket of muscle-meltingly hot water. (He does his best not to peek over his shoulder.) Then comes soaping the rest of him and rinsing off that. There are so many _details_ to this business. _Small wonder my skin doesn’t come off!_ It’s stuff he’s used to _now_ , sure. But back in Ulster it was rare for people to bathe like this all the time.

Speaking of which, looks like Shirou’s finally filling the tub. Bit by bit, hot steam soothes Lancer’s throat and turns the bathroom into a dreamy white haze. _Oh, yeah…that’ll feel great in a bit!_ He’s itching to jump in.

_Clack-clack-clack._

He looks over his shoulder this time, curious about the little plastic cap Shirou hastily snatches up from the floor. “Okay, so I sprinkle this stuff in…and then…”

Lancer’s too curious to wait now. Soaping and rinsing in record time, he pads over to get a good look at Shirou’s science experiment. “Whoa, are these pebbles?”

“Sort of—they melt. After we wait a bit more…” Shirou’s dawn-gold eyes stare at the water intently, as if he’s scrying for hidden treasure or a lost love.

“Hey…we’ve never bathed together, have we?” Nor have they slept together with Shirou’s shirt off. It’s always on when they sleep together, as if there’s something he can’t bear to show.

Shirou flushes and looks off to one side, brows pinched. “N-No.”

Maybe today he’ll finally find out why. Or not. Unlike Shirou, Lancer’s used to questions going unanswered—the gods know his Teacher gave him plenty of _those._

_…Ah, where were we again? Oh, yeah. The bath._

“If you’re ready now, that’s all that matters.” Lancer frowns at Shirou’s shirt. “Though in that case, you should take that off.” 

“Oh!” Shirou starts stripping with all the sensuality of a newborn foal. He reaches for his rumpled shirt, halfway revealing his abs, and flops about madly trying to get it off. “Stupid wet sleeves—”

_…But that’s not fun._

Lancer leans closer to him. “Wait. Let me.”

“I’m not a kid,” Shirou grumbles.

Lancer smiles wider and inclines his head toward the mirror. “Obviously. But we should take our time first.”

Shirou’s head turns to look at his reflection, but he doesn’t seem to get it. “Okay,” he says, after thinking it over. “There’s time until the bath is ready.”

Lancer slips behind him and eases him into standing directly in front of the mirror. With his bare chest against Shirou’s back, they can feel each other’s pounding heartbeat.

“Hey, Shirou,” he whispers, “you’re really good-looking.”

“You haven’t seen under my shirt yet,” Shirou says like it’s a joke. Or a warning.

Lancer rests his chin on the curve of Shirou’s shoulder, reaches around to take hold of Shirou’s shirt. “Oh yeah?”

Slowly, the shirt hikes up, showing off Shirou’s well-honed chest. And a bit of soft belly, too. The smooth cotton catches on Shirou’s nipples, making him cringe.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his hands resting against Lancer’s broad arms.

Lancer hums, raises his lips to the shell of Shirou’s ear. “Sure is. The plan’s to turn you on—hopefully.”

“…Oh. Thanks.” Shirou’s gaze flicks off to the side before he sighs and looks straight ahead again. “You can keep going.”

Lancer nods and holds up the shirt one-handed. The other slips against Shirou’s belly, the curves of his muscles hidden beneath the slight softness, before settling over his heart. Lazily, he brushes a nipple with his thumb, and gets a pleasured hitch of breath in response.

“Ooh, hey, your heart skipped just now.” Lancer chuckles and raises his head from Shirou’s shoulder. “Now lift up your arms for me, so we can get you clean.”

Shirou does so. Off the shirt comes with minimal wriggling, soon cast on the floor. His hair’s rumpled already; combined with the hunger in his eyes it makes for a good look.

“See? I told you,” he says, lowering his arms.

At first Lancer doesn’t get it. Then he sees the scar. It glints silver in the warm light, and stretches thickly over Shirou’s right shoulder like webbing. As far as Lancer can judge it’s from a long, long time ago. 

“So _that’s_ what worried you!” Lancer reaches out to touch it, but Shirou’s hand is in the way. 

“…I need to wash now.”

“Can I help?”

A bashful nod, ruined by the hungry glow in Shirou’s eyes. “There’s a mirror there, too, but it’s smaller.”

Lancer laughs. “Oh, that’s no big deal!”

Once Shirou’s seated on a stool, his hands dangling between his knees, Lancer kneels down behind him and gets to work helping him wash. In his opinion he’s gotten pretty good at turning a plain old shampooing into a soapy scalp massage. At least, Shirou feels that way. Within a few seconds of Lancer’s fingers kneading through his thick hair, he’s leaning his head back against Lancer’s chest, his posture soft as melted steel.

“You’re supposed to be taking care of your front,” Lancer says by his ear, still scrubbing away.

“I know…” With a slight grumble, he grabs a washcloth and starts swirling it about his chest and underarms, slicking his skin with opal-like suds.

Tempting as it is to touch him elsewhere, Lancer holds back. This is supposed to go slow, after all—why try to finish quickly? So he goes through the familiar motions: pouring water over Shirou’s head, rubbing conditioner into his hair, washing that away…and all the while admiring how much his Master’s filled out over the years.

(Not that he looked like a broom _before_ , of course. It’s just that the sweet curves of his ass and chest could rival any woman in Ulster’s, and his back is all thick muscle from carrying huge trays of food back and forth from the kitchens. Even better: he still looks like _Shirou_ , not Archer. Which means there’s no chance he’ll have the latter’s troubles.)

“What is it, Lancer? You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

“Like I said,” he replies, sliding the washcloth over Shirou’s lower back, “you’re gorgeous.”

“G-G-G—”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t choke!”

“I’m _not_ , idiot!” Shirou’s certainly red enough for the opposite to be true. “It’s just—I’m still not used to you complimenting me.”

Lancer sighs deep in his chest; he figured as much. “D’you _want_ to get used to it?”

“Eh? …Well,” a little sullenly, “that _might_ be a good thing…”

“Great!” And since there’s no time like the present, Lancer glides the washcloth down over Shirou’s lower back, grinning at the delicious tremble that follows. “Glad you like this.”

“Of course I do,” Shirou says, his voice breathier than normal. “Don’t just focus on my back. Try”—he gulps—“try my front.”

Lancer’s hand slips against Shirou’s belly, the curves of his muscles, before settling over his heart. Lazily, he brushes a nipple with his thumb, and gets a pleasured hitch of breath in response.

“Ooh, hey, your heart skipped just now.” Lancer chuckles and raises his head from Shirou’s shoulder. “Now lift up your arms for me, so we can get you clean.”

He does so, his posture relaxed even as his ears are a charming red. Slow on the uptake he may often be, but even he knows this isn’t just a matter of “getting clean”. As Lancer gives his armpits a perfunctory scrubbing, his arms twitch as if he wants to guide Lancer elsewhere. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where _that_ is.

“You’ve grown a lot here since we first met,” Lancer murmurs against Shirou’s neck, swirling the washcloth over his hardening nipples until they glisten from the soap. “I guess playing with them so much paid off, huh?”

“Yeah,” Shirou pants, his arms shaking with the strain of holding back, “so please touch them—!”

Lancer laughs low in his throat. “You bet.” Looking down, it’s clear that the towel on Shirou’s lap isn’t doing its job very well. “I love how responsive you are. You get so hard…and _sticky_ …it’s like you know what I’m going to do before _I_ know.”

Shirou’s nipples tease the pads of his fingers through the terrycloth in a manner that could make anyone want to rub them until Shirou’s legs turned to jelly. So in that regard, it’s easy to tell that the lover’s talk is working.

“Hey, look in the mirror. It’s not just your body that I love, y’know? It’s the look in your eyes—that glow you get whenever I touch you.”

“Ah…I-I see.”

“You’re an honest man,” Lancer presses his chest against Shirou’s trembling back, “and that’s worth a lot.”

“Seriously—this is you not holding back?!”

“Uh, yeah. Is it too much? In that case, I don’t mind stopping—”

Shirou shakes his head, sending water droplets spraying everywhere. “No, it’s fine! Like I said, it just takes getting used to.”

Well, that’s fair enough.

“…I do want to ‘last’ though, so I should get up before—”

“—Sure thing, sure thing,” Lancer assures him, before scooping him up and strolling over to the bath. “So, what’s this packet thing about anyway?” he asks once he sets Shirou down.

“You’ll see.” Shirou looks at the water and nods. “…Okay, I think we can test it.”

That out of the way, he swirls his hand in the water and pulls it out, dripping with… _what_ , exactly? Water droplets sure as hell aren’t stringy.

“Hmm…let’s make it thicker.” More melting-pebbles come pouring out of the packet and into the water, glittering like silver flecks. “Sorry this is taking so long, Lancer!”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Lancer grins, fixing the towel about his hip. “It’s fun watching you act like a druid!”

“A druid?” Shirou nods absently. “I guess this is a bit like making potions…” A playful grimace. “I can’t recite poetry, though.”

“Yeah, let’s leave that to the experts!” Lancer squints down at the bath. “I think they’re all melted now. Want to check again?”

“I’d rather see you try.”

“Gods, you’re smirking just like Archer right now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We look nothing alike!”

“Fine, the young lady then.”

Enough stalling. Lancer dips his fingers in the hot water—and starts. This really _isn’t_ water; it’s too slippery and clinging for that. In fact, it’s more than a bit like…

“…Uh, Shirou. Is this lube?”

“That's right.” And he’s so _pleased_ about it too—which he should be, since he kept the surprise for this long.

“Well, we better get in before it gets cold!” Laughing, Lancer hops in, the hot lube splashing thickly around him. As he gets accustomed to the weird clinging sensation, he looks back at Shirou curiously. “You coming, or should I chuck you in?” He makes sure to lighten his tone, just in case Shirou thinks he’s in for an unearned dunking.

“Of course,” Shirou says. He slides in with a slight ripple, the lubricant coating him in shining silver. “Ah…this feels strange, but not in a bad way.”

“You didn’t test it out before?”

He scratches his cheek and glances off to one side. “S-Sort of. Never mind that!” His nervousness doesn’t recede all the way, but his smile is genuine. “Now that we’re in the bath, we can keep going.”

Lancer chuckles and inches closer to him. Not that that’s difficult—this tub is only so big. “So what now, huh?”

His face screwed up with determination, Shirou reaches out and takes Lancer’s hand, tugging him toward the towel still struggling to stay on his waist. “…Go ahead,” he says, guiding him with a slight tremble in his fingers.

Lancer reaches down, cups him there. “Mm, nice.” Drenched terrycloth meets his palm and twitches tentatively. 

Shirou’s lips part in a shaky gasp. He arches into the touch, hips already beginning to rock. Each soft touch makes his knees threaten to buckle, and he rests his hands on the rim of the tub to keep balance.

Lancer presses a kiss to the tip of his ear, keeps stroking him. “Feeling good?”

“Obviously.” His hips jolt. “The towel…I should take it off.”

“Do you want to?” Lancer’s fingers rub gently, down to his thighs and back up again. The fabric slides in time. “I don’t mind. I want to see all of you, Shirou.”

The towel’s unwound in record time, and it’s hard not to grin at how hasty Shirou is now. It’s like a forge’s flames being stoked, rising up in time with the blacksmith’s tempo. His body and mind seem more in-sync these days—all for the better.

Lancer licks his lips as he presses his hips against Shirou’s, delighting in the slippery friction that greets him. “Mm…yeah, this was a _great_ idea.” He clasps their hot shafts and starts stroking with gentle firmness—the way they both like. And with the warm lube engulfing them, that delicious rhythm feels even better. “What d’you think, Shirou?”

Shirou’s panting breaths gust against Lancer’s shoulder as he leans forward, his hands awkwardly hanging in the air not sure where to go. “—Your hands—they feel—” He fumbles for Lancer’s chest, at first for balance and then to touch, rolling his nipples between calloused fingers like he’s determined to make Lancer feel just as good as he does. (Despite that already being taken care of.)

“Heh. You love touching me, huh.” They both know this, of course, but Lancer knows how much Shirou loves to hear lover’s talk even more. “And you look gorgeous doing it, too…all red-faced and trembling against me…I barely need to touch it, and it gets like this. See?” His thumb brushes against Shirou’s tip, coaxing a tiny bead of wetness from it.

“God—Lancer, please…!” Pupils big and dark as wells.

“‘Please’ what?” Lancer dips his head down to whisper in Shirou’s crimson ear. “If you have orders, you need to say them…Master.”

Which is utterly unfair. There are a hundred options before them, and all of them involve getting sticky and satisfied together; to expect Shirou to choose _one_ is frankly impossible.

But Lancer wants to see what he’ll decide, so he retracts his hand and waits patiently. 

After a few moments of dithering (and absently fondling Lancer’s chest) Shirou screws up his courage and sits on the edge of the tub, his back pressed against the wall. “That’s right,” he murmurs, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. “I’m supposed to get used to you pleasing me, so…it makes sense for you to”—he chuckles with nervous delight—“l-lick me now and then.”

Once again, Lancer can’t believe his luck. His heart swelling with pride, he kneels down before his Master and gently eases his slick knees open for a better view. “Will do,” he replies, before licking a stripe up Shirou’s sensitive thigh. “Trust me, it’ll be worth your while…”

“I-I know. But thanks.” Shirou strokes himself to full hardness again, his every slow gesture dripping delicate strings of silvery lube back into the mass it came from. He’s sweetly flushed from his neck to his inner thighs—and with a smoldering gaze that welcoming, what Servant could say no?

“Let me take it from here,” Lancer whispers, replacing Shirou’s hand with his. He chuckles at the light throb that greets him. “Think you can last?”

“Of course I— _ah_!” Shirou jolts as Lancer laps up a glimmer of salty moisture with the tip of his tongue. “I saved up, so—”

“Oh? So _that’s_ why these are so full today.” Lancer’s fingertips stroke Shirou’s swollen sac for the briefest of moments before moving to somewhere less…explosive. “Well,” a slow, swirling lick around the reddening tip, “I’ll be sure to savor it…!”

Really, it’s a shame Shirou doesn’t let Lancer “give head” like this more often. Swallowing him down inch by thickening inch, then pulling back to tease him with a flicker of tongue, loving all the sweet spots to make him writhe…Lancer could do this for hours. _Hell, maybe I will! This lube is helping things along well enough…_

“You’re getting wetter…good.” He drinks the glimmering traces of mana down like they came from the gods themselves, ensuring that he sounds as “dirty” (in Shirou’s words) as possible.

A delicious, fluting moan. “You should…take care of yours too…”

“Oh?” Stroking slower now, just enough to make him ache. “You want me to rub one out while I tease you?” A hot plume of air at the leaking tip. “Looks like we’ve finally found a compromise.”

Shirou’s hips tremble as he struggles to stay still—for what reason, Lancer has no clue. “J-Just do it, already!”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Lancer says with a laugh before reaching between his legs to ease that delicious ache thrumming in his belly. “Mm…” He knows how glorious he must look with his hair falling like a blue curtain over his shoulder as it bobs in time with his mouth, and he takes full advantage.

 _Finally_ Shirou reaches for Lancer’s head to hold him in place, his broad chest heaving with each strained breath. He’s beyond reason, now, keening about how good it feels, how amazing. Warm lube trickles from Shirou’s fingers down Lancer’s scalp like the sparks of pleasure running through his veins.

Lancer lets his eyes close as he lets everything wash over him. The heat building in his hips. The velvety weight of Shirou against his tongue. The emerald threads of leylines and mana like a lover’s knot connecting their lives together. _Even after so long, it’s still precious…_

Shirou must feel it too; he’s hugging Lancer’s head as if he’ll fade away any second. “Lancer—coming—!”

Lancer’s mouth overflows with brackish mana, the raw power of its essence sending waves of fire though his every vein. Everything feels both foggy and too vivid: he can feel every pulse of Shirou’s veins against his, each whisper of air on his skin. His hair stands up all along his body like he’s been struck by lightning. The callouses decorating his palm tingle with each wondering stroke as he takes it in.

Is it any wonder his orgasm rolls through him like a glorious river overflowing its banks? Sparks tingling on his tongue, sparks dancing in his eyes. How it doesn’t tear him apart, as he shivers and strains to ride through the weightless bliss, he has no idea.

But he manages it, holding Shirou tight and reveling in the tender warmth in his arms.

After his heart slows to a trot rather than a wild gallop, he takes stock. Shirou looks delightfully disheveled, with his hair clinging to his forehead and his sunset eyes as wide as Lancer’s ever seen them. He must’ve looked pretty feral to get _that_ reaction. _Or maybe I…oh, shit!_

“ _Please_ tell me I didn’t bite it off—”

“You didn’t, you didn’t! I’m fine. What about you, are you okay?”

“…Looks that way.” Lancer sags forward, his cheek on Shirou’s comfy lap. “I guess we didn’t do mana transfer as often as we thought. Did that feel… _different_ to you?”

Shirou’s brows furrow as he mulls it over. Given the circumstances, it’s to be expected he needs a few minutes. “…I think so. We’ve been so busy lately, drinking my blood must not have been enough.” His frown grows deeper. “Maybe that helped?”

“Maybe.” Lancer grins slyly up at him, scooping up lube and rubbing it into his thigh. “And y’know…we sure have time _now._ Want another round?”

Shirou’s body responds _very_ positively to the idea, as does the man himself. If with a bit of embarrassment. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to—whoa!” He gasps as Lancer tugs him into the bath proper, the hot lube engulfing them both just right.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll change,” Lancer purrs, before giving him as heavy and deep a kiss as he can manage—one to swallow Shirou’s breath and give him a taste of the power he just received.

Shirou clasps Lancer’s back as if he’s drowning, fingers deliciously slick against his muscles. _Yeah, you’re_ definitely _“getting used to it”. But just to be sure…_

\---

The cleanup is easier than expected—all it takes is flushing the lubricant down the drain—and after rinsing off Shirou and Lancer have the late evening to look forward to.

A full moon glows like a knight’s armor through the windows, surrounded by a retinue of stars. The wind dances through the trees just like it did in Ulster, like it does everywhere. On nights like this, the golden fields of Eire don’t feel so far away.

“Now,” Shirou says, tying on an apron with well-earned confidence, “what should we have tonight, Lancer?”

“Whatever you make will be great!” It has to be said, even though Shirou’s heard it a thousand times. Lancer’s stomach gurgles like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “…Maybe something filling,” he adds sheepishly.

“Hmm. My instructor taught me how to make ‘Osaka pancakes’ today…practicing that would be fun.” Grabbing a spotless frying pan, Shirou resolutely places it on the stovetop and gets to work. (Though for him it’s more like play.)

Lancer leans against the counter and watches, unable to keep from grinning proudly. _Gods, how things have changed—and for the better, for once!_ Shirou has to duck his head to avoid getting a cupboard door to the face, but his movements as he cracks open eggs one-handed ( _One-handed!_ ) and dices up scallions as efficiently as a surgeon are things to behold. He’s learning what Lancer was taught centuries before: even if there’s an audience of one, performance counts for a lot.

More specifically: Shirou’s not just cooking to help anymore, he’s doing it for fun and _knows it_. That would’ve never happened back when they first met. It’s small, but it’s a start.

In the distance, Lancer hears the front door open, and he bounds off to welcome whoever showed. “Hey, just in time!” he calls—then practically howls in glee once he rounds the corner and sees who it is. “ _Young lady!_ You’re back from London?!”

“Hello again,” the young lady says cheerily, as Sakura and Fuji-nee squeeze through the door after her. Her dark hair isn’t in twintails anymore, and waves down to her waist, which makes her look taller somehow. Her ice-blue eyes are a bit warmer too—a bonus of not fighting for her life now, if Lancer had to guess. “Yeah, it’s winter break for us. How’s Shirou?”

“He’s doing great, cooking up a storm as usual—whoops, I’m blocking the entrance, come on in!”

“ _It’s the fish man, with the fish plans_ ,” Fuji-nee sings merrily, initiating her and Lancer’s not-so-secret handshake. And then for about five minutes they’re caught in a cycle of messing up, laughing, redoing it and messing up again, until they just link arms with Sakura and the young lady and jig sideways through the mansion until they reach the kitchen.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Shirou asks, baffled, while Sakura nearly laughs herself to a spot by the table, her long ponytail flowing like a banner.

“Ms. Fujimura says it’s a secret, so as a Tohsaka I can’t say.” The young lady smiles warmly and after a bit too long takes a seat beside her. “You look well, Emiya.”

“Thanks, you too.” Shirou looks wide-eyed at the young lady’s sweater and black pants—they must be expensive. “Were you visiting Sakura’s?”

“Yes,” Sakura says, having regained her gentle composure. “With grandfather’s…passing, it feels nice having visitors over. That was hard before. He was very irritable toward people that weren’t us!”

“Old geezers are like that,” Fuji-nee complains; it hurts a bit seeing the faint silver in her hair. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sakura—”

“Don’t worry about it. He really was an…” Sakura glances about nervously, like someone who’s never sworn before and isn’t sure how it will be received.

“…An old fart?” Lancer adds, warmed when her eyes light up with glee.

“Exactly, an old fart!” Sakura tries to stifle her giggles behind her hand. “Oh, Illya would have found that so…” The joy trickles out of her voice, leaving only wistfulness.

“Yeah,” Shirou says from the stove, his voice painfully tender. “She would have.”

Everyone goes quiet. Fuji-nee’s shoulder twitches as if she’s trying not to look for someone. The young lady just stares at the table, her expression dark.

Lancer sighs and looks out the window, letting everyone’s thoughts linger. Nobody knows—or wants to think about—why Illya waited barely a month after Sakura’s old man bit the dust before returning to Germany. _Maybe she did what she had to._

“…Who knows? Maybe she’ll call this year.” He tries not to let his cynicism show for once.

“Yeah, maybe,” Fuji-nee says, her forced cheer only staying that way for a moment. One sniff of the air and she’s bright as the sun. “Ooh, Shirou, what’re you making? It smells delicious!” 

“My instructor calls them ‘Osaka pancakes’,” Shirou says, sounding ready to teach himself. “You make them like this…”

As Shirou explains the recipe in time with his flowing movements, everyone leans forward as if caught in a trance. It’s simple stuff, sure, even mundane—but even so there’s a calming power to it. Lancer knows it well, and basks in the others’ slow relaxation and gentle smiles.

_That’s right. This is what I stayed for._ As the moon makes its journey overhead, Lancer not for the first time marvels in how he doesn’t want to follow it to some distant shore. There’s no place to go but here, with his Master and his hodge-podge family. _Is this what people call “contentment”? Wouldn't that be something._

If that’s the case, he’ll have time to soak in it for a while yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Feedback is appreciated.


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